


Umbra

by setos_puppy



Category: Glee
Genre: Demon AU, M/M, blaine is a hunter, kind of weird and angsty and sexy, kurt is a crossroads demon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:54:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1197432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setos_puppy/pseuds/setos_puppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine Anderson has been chasing these two for what seems like years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Umbra

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a long ago meme on tumblr and my obsession with all things kurtofsky and supernatural, now hosted here for your ease

Blaine Anderson sighed as he ducked below the yellow police tape with a curt nod to the uniformed police officer. He pulled off his sunglasses as he entered the church, it was filled with various figures, people documenting evidence, or in the corners talking to people. Blaine gave no notice to them and instead strode up the long aisle and pulled out the badge with a blank face and flashed it. 

 

“Agent Nicolas Alistair.” 

 

The sheriff made a noise of discontent but said something to the police officer he had been addressing before turning his attention back to Blaine. “How can I help you, Agent?” 

 

Blaine hid his smile as he took a pair of latex gloves from an officer and slipped them on, flexing his hands to fit them snugly. Small town local police were so easy. Especially with the strange cases; they just wanted to be left alone. “We got a report that you had a case that matches records we've been tracking. Mind giving me a briefing?”

 

The sheriff – whose name S. Mason – was patched on his chest, nodded and gestured for Blaine to follow. “Local girl, Joan Miller, fifteen. According to her mother she volunteered at the church daycare after school. No blips on the radar, she was a good girl.”

 

Blaine nodded and made a quiet humming noise as he followed Mason up the stairs to the dais where the largest group of uniforms were. They broke the crowd and Blaine approached the sheeted corpse and bent down, lifting the edge of the sheet, a grimace coming over his face at the overwhelming stench of copper. 

 

“Where did you find her?”

 

“On the stairs in front of the altar. She was posed to look like she was sleeping. She was found this morning when the priest opened for confession. He said she wasn't here yesterday, that she left Saturday night as usual.”

 

Blaine looked down at the girl, whose face looked oddly serene despite the fact her bright blue shirt was soaked through with sticky, slowly browning blood. “Did you determine cause of death?”

 

“We're not sure yet, but the coroner is pretty sure it wasn't the stab wounds, he said they avoided all major organs. He says he's pretty sure it's asphyxia.” 

 

“Like all the others,” Blaine muttered under his breath as he straightened from his crouch and pulled off the gloves. 

 

“How many bodies have you found like this?”

 

“So far, four, including yours. All of them stabbed in the stomach in a pattern akin to a star, all of the stab wounds non-fatal, all of them dead from strangulation, it seems. Tell me, did you find anything out of the ordinary here? Other than the body of course.”

 

“There was no sexual assault, which I personally find strange. The church wasn't vandalized...” Mason paused to think, tapping his index finger against his broad chin. 

 

Blaine clenched his teeth, feeling impatient, but knew better than to press his luck. Instead he plastered on a polite smile. “Take your time.”

 

“Actually, now that I think of it...” Mason turned and after a moment of consulting with someone held out a bottle of water to Blaine. “This was in her purse.”

 

“It's water.” 

 

Mason shook the bottle and Blaine's brows creased as he watched the water cloud, pulling on a fresh set of gloves he took the bottle and shook some water into his palm and sniffed it before taking a lick. “Salt water?”

 

“Salt water.”

 

Blaine turned the bottle in his hand, his mind reeling. He looked back to the girl, and then to the Sheriff before handing back the bottle. “I'll be in touch.”

 

Mason nodded and turned back to his people. Blaine watched him a moment before taking off the gloves and handing them off to someone as he pulled his sunglasses back on and strode out of the church. 

 

He had work to do.

 

~*~

 

“Ow, you fucking son of a bitch, stop!”

 

Sitting back, a larger, short haired male peered down at his companion, a pretty, pale, willowy brunette who was holding an ice pack to his face. The bigger of the two huffed a sigh. “Whiny bitch.”

 

“David, I actually _like_ this meatsuit, thank you.”

 

Dave rolled his eyes and batted away the slimmer male's hand from the icepack, peeling it off his cheek and peering at the blistered, red skin. “It's already healing. Maybe next time you feel like playing you'll be more careful with your toys. You're lucky she missed your eyes with the salt water. What a cunt, who actually carries salt water around with them?”

 

“Girls in small towns, apparently.” The slighter male – Kurt – brushed a hand over his bangs, smoothing them from his shining, wide blue doe eyes. “Is it gone?”

 

Dave peeled back the ice pack and noticed the blistered, angry red patch of skin had vanished and gave a nod. “Yeah. Good as new. Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Feel free,” Kurt supplied, pulling a compact from a bag near his hip and flicked it open, peering at his face, fingers skirting over where the burn had been. 

 

“You never take the souls of the clients you bargain with, you always take their first-born. Why?”

 

“I love a good cliché. Besides, I only take the first-born if the idiot is headed Below anyway, I get more bang for my buck. Two souls for the price of one damn fine deal.”

 

“Slippery bitch,” Dave muttered, a smile on his face as he reclined in his seat and lit a cigarette, drawing on it with a sigh.

 

Kurt eyed Dave from the side of his eyes before he turned his gaze back to the mirror and fussed with his hair. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me.” 

 

Dave's mouth turned up in a smile as he exhaled through his nose. “I know. Here,” Dave offered the cigarette and Kurt snapped the compact shut, taking a puff before turning his head to the side as he exhaled. 

 

“God, why do you smoke rich cigarettes, they taste like shit.”

 

“Keep it up and I'll put them out on your back.” 

 

Kurt tracked a woman walking outside of the diner before he looked back to Dave. “Don't make promises you can't keep.” 

 

Dave opened his mouth to reply but their waitress arrived, cutting off his innuendo. 

 

“Are you ready to order?” She asked before noticing the cigarette. “Oh, sir, I'm sorry, we're a non-smoking restaurant.”

 

Dave turned the cigarette in his fingers, taking a final drag before dropping it in the complimentary glass of ice water. “Sorry, I didn't see the sign.”

 

The girl sputtered, pointing to the sign on the glass right beside his head before staring down at the water in shock. She took a deep breath and smiled again. “What can I get for you?”

 

Kurt peered over his menu, studying the girl before turning his eyes back to the page. “Can I get a buffalo chicken sandwich? Extra hot sauce, ranch on the side, with onion rings and a Mai Tai?”

 

“I'll need to card you, sorry.” 

 

Kurt pulled out his wallet and eventually pulled out his driver's license, handing it over. The girl eyed it, holding it up and looking between Kurt and the photo before flicking the card to make sure it was authentic. After a moment she handed it back to him with a smile and Kurt slipped it back into his wallet. 

 

“Okay, and for you?”

 

“Yeah, I'll get the bacon, swiss burger, can I add barbecue sauce to that and I'll get it with fries and a Guinness.” 

 

“Great. I'll be back with your stuff soon,” the girl “hi-my-name-is-Tina” said before she headed for the kitchen with Dave's dirty water in hand.

 

“ _Extra_ hot sauce? Really?”

 

“I'm not the one complaining for Climate Change to hurry up already. How come I'm always carded?”

 

“Maybe because you picked a fifteen year old choir boy to ride around in.”

 

“But I'm so innocent and helpless.”

 

Dave choked on a laugh as he rolled his eyes. “Of course you are. You've never drowned babies before, or split people open to play with their insides.”

 

Kurt rose a shoulder in a shrug. “I don't have cable, I need to make my own fun.” He tilted his head to the side and heaved a sigh. “Dammit, I'll be back.”

 

Before Dave could reply Kurt was gone, leaving behind his tailored coat and bag to hold his spot. Work during dinner was always so _rude_. Dave sipped his beer when it arrived and before long Kurt strode across the restaurant from the washrooms as casual as could be. He threw himself down in the booth before wiping his mouth with a napkin and took a long sip of his drink. 

 

“Lawyers,” was all Kurt said. 

 

Dave snorted and sat back when their food arrived, he picked up a fry and took a bite, sighing happily. “So, what do you want to do after dinner?”

 

Kurt dragged his onion ring through the ranch sauce and took a bite. “Well, we do have that frat boy in our trunk we should deal with.”

 

Dave took a long sip of his drink and peered out the window to look at their subtle, off white sedan. “Oh yeah.” 

 

He took a bite of his burger before leaning across the Formica table and stole an onion ring. He turned his eyes back to the car out the window, his mouth twisting in thought. He hoped the kid had enough air. “He's the one who wanted to party with demons.” Dave chewed on the onion ring, distracted, before looking back at Kurt. “Hey, want to go shopping?”

 

~*~

 

Blaine dropped the double-barreled shotgun onto the old, wooden table and dropped into a worn seat, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, sighing in agitation. The male sitting at the table looked up from the book he was leafing through and crinkled his nose in distaste at the gun. 

 

“On top of the priceless books, really?”

 

“Shut it, Jesse.” Blaine scrubbed a hand over his face and shifted the weapon, laying it on the floor gently before groaning as he drew his hands over his eyes. “Did you find anything yet?”

 

“There's nothing ritual I can find with it. They weren't connected to anything. Different ages; two boys, two girls. All under twenty, all upstanding, perfect citizens.”

 

Blaine huffed a sigh. “D'you think it's the same demon? I mean, they're all eerily similar. All found in the same way in churches.”

 

Jesse nodded and picked up a photo from the pile; one of the bodies. “I'd guess so. Maybe it's just a demon out for a party; someone who just got out of the box?”

 

Blaine ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “Any idea on how to track the fucker down? On what it looks like?”

 

“Non-threatening, I'd put a bet on it. Young?” Jesse shuffled through the photos and picked one from the pile, brows furrowing. “But they all have this...” 

 

“What?”

 

Jesse pulled out a photo of each victim and pulled out a magnifying glass and held the photo up, peering down into the photo. He lined them up and moved his desk lamp so he could get a clearer look and looked down at the pictures. “There.” He pointed to the pictures. “You see that?”

 

Blaine got up and crossed round the table and peered down at the pictures, squinting at them. “What am I looking at?” 

 

“Here...” Jesse held up a photo of the most recent dead girl and poked at her neck, where her hair had flared up, and handed Blaine the magnifying glass.

 

Blaine adjusted the photo and held up the magnifying glass and peered through it. “It's a tattoo, a little cheesy...” Blaine rolled his eyes a little at the small stick figure of an angel – you could tell by the little halo, wings and harp. “What about it?”

 

“Look,” Jesse said, holding up the photos of each victim, “they each have one.”

 

Blaine rose a brow but looked, humming as he noticed each of the dead kids found in the churches had one. In the exact same place too, at the nape of their neck, just below their hairline. “What is it?”

 

“Calling card? A way for the demon to signify which kills are... wait...” Jesse dropped the photos he was holding and shoved out of his chair and moved to his bookshelf, pulling down a dusty tome and fanned through it. “I knew it.” He pulled on his chair with his foot and sat back in it, scanning the pages of the text. “...'and those whom associated with Devils and made pacts with them were branded with their marks.'”

 

Blaine's brows furrowed as he racked his brain. “It's a diabolical mark?” He snorted a laugh and dropped the photos down on the tabletop. “Someone Downstairs has a sick sense of humor.”

 

Jesse hummed in the back of his throat and nodded his head. “It looks like you're dealing with a Crossroads that's collecting it's debt.” 

 

“They're never usually hands on, right? Don't they usually let Hellhounds deal with the pickup?”

 

“This one must like doing it herself.”

 

Blaine's brow winged up as he looked down at the photos. “Her?”

 

“They're described as seductive, attractive women. I guess it appeals to the average joe who wants to get it all wrapped up in a pretty package.”

 

Blaine snorted again, shaking his head. “Idiots. Well, how do I find it?”

 

“Summoning a Crossroads is pretty simple, actually, but there's tons of them. How do you know you'll get the right one?”

 

Blaine rolled a knife in his fingers, watching as the blade caught the light. “I think I'll have to... dig for the truth. A little harsh interrogation never hurt anyone.”

 

~*~

 

Shadows flickered over the church, dimly illuminated from the low turned lights and still flickering votive candles. The stained glass windows were eerie in the dark, looking haunted and detached from the world without sun to give them life. 

 

“Fuck, Jesus, fuck!”

 

“Hmm... Blasphemy in a church, David, tsk tsk.”

 

Kurt's hands pressed down hard on the cold stone of the altar as he held himself up, grunting with exertion as he slammed his hips hard into Dave. The larger male hissed and bucked his hips up again, his legs moving to hug around Kurt's hips and pull him in deeper. His head lolled back as he pulled on the blazer to the fetishistic school boy uniform Kurt was wearing. 

 

“Are you going to act like a girl and take this slow, or are you going to _fuck me_?”

 

Kurt made a noise that was a mixture of a snarl and a growl, his eyes bleeding into a deep blood red as his lips curled into a smirk. He saw Dave smirk, the other male's eyes bleeding into ink black. He ducked down his head when Dave cupped at the base of his neck and bit at the other's mouth, sucking when blood welled from his lips and licked his way into Dave's mouth. One of his hands braced him hard against the altar while the other wrapped around Dave's hip, holding so tight that he could hear the weak body's bone shudder under the strain. 

 

When they broke, Kurt shuddered, moving to sink his teeth into the meat of Dave's shoulder as he drove into him relentlessly. Dave choked on noise of pleasure, one of his hands moving between them to tug on his straining erection as he wove his fingers into Kurt's hair and tugged. He smiled in an almost lazy, loving manner. “There's my boy.”

 

Kurt's body stiffened, his hips bucked twice and he came with a muffled noise against Dave's flesh. Dave grunted as he stroked his cock before spilling over his hands and onto the uniform Kurt still had on without shame or regret and let his body fall lax on the cold stone. 

 

He closed his eyes a moment and hummed. Chuckling as he thought about how almost romantic this was. 

 

Kurt slowly drew himself up, his fingers tracing over the deep bite on Dave's shoulder before he shucked off the uniform blazer and used it to wipe the cooling semen off his stomach and Dave's before tossing it down on the stairs. They redressed in companionable silence and Kurt oozed down to sit on the steps next to the soiled jacket. 

 

“Can I ask...” Dave ventured, adjusting his belt. “What's with the churches?”

 

“Way back...” Kurt started, moving to rock back on his hands as he looked up at the crucifix peering down at them. “When I still had a soul and a life, and all that, before...” Kurt trailed off a moment, running his tongue over his teeth. “Before the Pit, before what I had was twisted... I was in Rome. It was a long time ago – ages... Back when they had beautiful choir boys to keep young forever.” Kurt raked a hand over the back of his neck, feeling suddenly too tight in the flesh and bones he had hijacked. “Back when this body wasn't my body and things weren't there that should have been...” Kurt exhaled, it sounded forced and he turned his head to look at the pane of Michael smiting Lucifer. When he spoke again, his voice was distant. “They're pretty.”

 

Dave fell silent, nodding his head. “I feel like I should say something human and pedantic. Apologize for calling you a choir boy or something...”

 

Kurt's laugh rang and echoed in the empty church. “And what good would that serve? Don't be stupid, David. The past is ancient history. Besides, in this body I still have my lovely singing voice.” 

 

Dave smiled a little and stood, offering his hand, but Kurt stood up on his own, brushing his hands over the back of his uniform pants and stared at the soiled uniform blazer, wondering if he should take it. He rose a shoulder in a shrug and decided to leave it and cause more chaos when people found it. 

 

“Come on. Let's go to Germany. I have some business to conduct.” 

 

Kurt's eyes glowed coal red in the faint light before he was gone. Seconds later, David followed, leaving behind flickering votive candles.

 

~*~

 

The screams slowly died down as Blaine stepped away from the pretty blonde woman who was tied to the sturdy chair, her eyes a seductive, deep crimson and gazing up at him with fierce defiance. Her face was blistered red in some places where Blaine had pushed salt or silver against her skin. His hand tightened around the hilt of the knife and his eyes tracked her eyes as she tracked him. 

 

“Just tell me who she is. She's one of yours, right? Collecting? Angel tattoo as some kind of sick joke?”

 

The blonde demon chuckled and tossed her hair off her shoulder and lolled her head back to look at the elaborate Devil's Trap painted messily over her head. “You don't know what you're talking about, Blaine Anderson.”

 

Blaine's mouth pressed together in a thin line and he slashed down her cheek with the silver knife, sending sparks and smoke into the air as she bled. “I know scum like you. Disgusting, inhuman, dirty pieces of trash.”

 

The woman laughed, her coral painted lips tipping up into a pretty smile. “That's where you're wrong. You just think you know us. Tell me... _Blaine_ , where do demons come from?”

 

“You're Hellspawn, bred from evil and hatred and fear.”

 

“I'd give you a half point for that answer.” The girl chuckled and licked her lips. “This body's former owner was a school teacher, I guess the lingo just sticks.” She shifted her weight in the chair, trying to ease back and relax. “We were all once like you, Blaine. We were all human once upon a time. We all did something to end up in the Pit, what that is depends on who you ask – some will tell you the truth and others will lie through their teeth. Whatever the case, how we're made is all the same.”

 

She watched as Blaine shifted and ran her tongue over her teeth.“We're plunged into the darkness, into the fires that burn so hot, into the cold, hard chains and the searing hooks. You're torn apart, broken, over and over and over and you can scream until they rip your throat out, but it never stops. They poke and pull and squish and cut until suddenly it all blurs into a hopeless, desperate want and plea of pain and please and _oh God why_. You tear yourself off the slab, off the rock, you rip your limbs off, you tear yourself to pieces as you rend the hooks from your meat, and you grab the first available thing you can and slam into it mercilessly. And... it feels **good**. So you do it again; over and over; and maybe one last time because each scream you wrench from another throat, each splatter of blood and rip of muscle, makes the pain stop. It stops for a second and it's amazing. You see... Time in Hell, it's funny. It's backwards and too fast, too slow, upside down and sideways, all at once, and yet, never. A month up here is a year in the Pit, easily. Some of us are down there for centuries before we break, some of us only days. But, once upon a time, I was a little girl, who wanted to be a mommy; I had a brother and mother and a father, they're all dead now. Ashes. You see, Blaine, we're not so different, you and I.”

 

Blaine snarled and slammed the blade into her gut, making her gasp and choke on air, she smiled at him. “Tease, stop flirting.” She spat blood on his face and hissed when he drew the blade out, blood dripping on the floor. 

 

“Tell me where I can find her,” Blaine growled.

 

The demon laughed and spat on the floor, giving a smile of bloodied teeth. “It isn't a _her_. And if you think you can beat him, you stupid little flesh bag, you're wrong. He's been in this business a long, long time.”

 

Blaine dropped the knife and picked up his Rite of Exorcism book and flipped open the pages. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica...”

 

~*~

 

“This is different. I don't think we've ever done a real date before.”

 

“I thought you might have liked a night where you didn't end up covered in blood and entrails.”

 

Kurt took a long sip of his milkshake and set it down on the table between his deck chair and Dave's. “That is thoughtful.” He broke a piece off of the macaroons they had procured from the cabana by the hotel pool and took a ponderous chew. “This isn't because I had a weepy human moment and talked about my past is it, because then I'd have to force feed you holy water.”

 

“Nah. We all have our relapse moments. Where we forget the years, or use the wrong name, or the wrong language.”

 

Kurt sucked on his teeth, shifting as he lifted his sunglasses and stared at Dave. “It is because of the human moment isn't it?” He sighed and flopped back against the chair. “David, don't get all soft on me.”

 

“Just because I wanted to relax by the pool and watch the stars, doesn't mean I'm getting soft, it means I wanted to watch the fucking stars, okay?” 

 

'Fine, okay.” Kurt sucked chocolate off his fingers, thinking. “So, what did you do to end up in the Pit..?” He ventured, looking over at Dave. 

 

Dave's brow rose and he turned his head, looking to Kurt. It was a silent moment, where they looked at one another. A moment of understanding: I'll show me mine if you show me yours.

 

Dave chewed on the straw, sucking on his strawberry shake. “Sold my soul for clairvoyance and sorcery. Fifteen years.”

 

Kurt hummed, nodding his head approvingly. “A decent wager.” He stirred his thick milkshake, musing. Always the business man. “I...” Kurt hedged, chewing on his straw as he drank some of his milkshake. “I may have murdered three cardinals and a Pope. And then forsook the Vatican, God and all of Christendom and committed suicide.”

 

“That's pretty fucking badass, I have to admit. I'm sure they had it coming.” 

 

“When it comes to the Pope, he always has it coming. I was devout, I was accomplished and amazing and people adored me. He took that all from me; he stole away my life and kept me in this cage and on this pedestal and now I'm thinking about it, David, and I'm pissed off. Thanks a lot.”

 

Dave frowned and pushed himself up and out of his chair and moved over to Kurt's and straddled his waist, kissing his jaw and biting at his chin. “Feel better now that it's off your chest?”

 

Kurt pouted like a petulant child and turned his head from Dave's eyes. “No.”

 

Dave laughed, his fingers skimming over Kurt's arms, up and down in a hypnotic, soothing fashion. “If I was being honest, I'd say I'm glad for it, because now I have you forever.”

 

Kurt rolled his eyes behind his designer glasses and turned his head back to look at Dave, who was smirking down at him. “Romantic idiot.”

 

“Heartless bitch.”

 

Kurt smiled fondly and stroked his fingers through Dave's hair, drawing his mouth down to kiss him in a lazy manner before sitting back. “Come on, up you get. Let's go back to the bedroom, I'll let you fuck me in the shower. This body needs it. Trust me.”

 

“That body and it's innocent baby face makes me feel like I'm robbing the cradle.”

 

“I know. You love it.”

 

Dave hummed, his thumb stroking over Kurt's plush lower lip, he smiled when Kurt sucked on the pad of his thumb. “I really do.” Dave stood and offered his hand. “Come on, I'll fuck you out thoroughly and wreck you and then we can go to a bar and make some deals.”

 

Kurt took Dave's offered hand and stood. “I knew there was a reason I picked you to hang around with.”

 

~*~

 

“I have the name of the boy the Crossroads demon hijacked,” Blaine said, walking into Jesse's living room, wiping his hands on the old, ratty towel and flung it aside. “Kurt Hummel.”

 

Jesse hummed and queued the name into his search engine, which spat out results quickly. “Says here he's been missing for just under three years. Sixteen, from Lima, Ohio... Mother died when he was a child – ooh, car crash.” Jesse typed in a few more things and sat back. “The same day he went missing a college student by the name of David Karofsky who was helping him in math also went missing.”

 

Blaine twisted open a bottle of Corona and sat down next to Jesse as he pulled up security footage. “Maybe we have them on tape before the killings.”

 

Jesse nodded and punched in a bunch of technical mumbo-jumbo on his laptop before it started scanning through the frames of the countless hours of footage they had. It was a sad day, Jesse had to admit, that churches were now wired up with security cameras. Standing, Jesse headed to the kitchen to brew some coffee.

 

It was going to be a long night.

 

~*~

 

Kurt drew his mouth away from the dry, chapped lips of the businessman he had just finalized a contract with. Kurt smiled up at the man, maybe around forty-five, with deep brown hair that was graying around the temples. There was something about the older men that really made him crazy, the perverted ones who were buried so deep inside of their self-loathing, disgusting closet, that he loved to go after. The ones with the wives and kids and cars, houses with picket fences and dogs. Kurt wiped at his saliva-dampened lower lip, reddened from the force of the kiss and offered up a smile, his eyes clear, wide and so innocently baby-blue before flashing red. 

 

“It was a pleasure, Mr. Danners.” Kurt pulled out his blackberry and checked his messages, his eyes flickering up to the man who was staring down at him in a mixture of longing and disgust. “You can go.”

 

Kurt hummed in the back of his throat, watching as the man who had traded his soul for a larger paycheck and a way to get around without his wife realizing he had a whole other family ran out of the bar, never looking back. Kurt examined his schedule, sucking on his teeth before pulling out a slim menthol cigarette and lit it with a long, slightly harsh drag. He rolled the cigarette in his fingers as he exhaled the plume of smoke and tapped out a text message to David, wondering where he was. 

 

He was an independent demon, thank you very much, he didn't need a stone around his neck twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five.

 

His blackberry chirped at him just as his dirty martini arrived and Kurt took a sip and clicked open the message. 

 

_**Vegas is such a great party town. If you're looking for a good time I'm at the Luxor.** _

 

Kurt snorted and punched in a snarky, bitchy reply, smiling fondly all the while before putting his phone aside. He could meet up with David later, for now, he wanted to work. He had a contract in Oregon expiring in two hours, all he had to do now was wait. 

 

Flicking the ashes off the end of his cigarette, Kurt watched as a voluptuous woman walked up to the bar. More than half plastic and as disgusting on the inside as she was beautiful on the outside. Kurt tracked her as she picked up her daiquiri and walked towards a table of men.

 

There were two things, in Kurt's expert opinion, that dive bars like the one he was currently sitting in, were good for. Neither of which was their fabulous drink selection nor cocktail making skills. The first was that the dim, no-questions asked attitude meant that as long as you paid the right amount, even if you looked sixteen, you could get a drink, chat with a man looking more than twice your age, and no one would pay you mind. The second was that hookers were rampant. If not a necessity. 

 

Kurt watched the woman peddle her wares as he smoked down his cigarette, watching most of it burn away. She was superficially pretty; the kind of pretty that red-blooded heterosexual men liked. She was also a thief, which Kurt had to admit, earned her some points in his book. 

 

She was sitting down and chatting with the men. Naming her price. Naming the game.

 

Kurt slid the olive off the toothpick and sucked the alcohol from it as he watched her work. Admired her even. Eventually she stood with her John, her business concluded, and walked out the door, the lusty, one-track minded man following. 

 

The man was going to end up with a knife in his gut and the whore with money in her pocket.

 

Kurt stubbed out his cigarette.

 

His phone chirped.

 

Time for work.

 

~*~

 

This was most definitely not going according to plan.

 

This was most definitely not Blaine's concept of a Good Idea. In fact it seemed like a Very Bad Idea.

 

Still, as the last of the blood oozing from his hand dripped into the copper bowl, Blaine took hold of the printed missing photo of Kurt Hummel and struck the match. He lit the corner of the paper and watched as the flame licked up the sheet before dropping it into the mixture in the bowl. Smoke shot up, clouding the air with a thick stench, and Blaine coughed, cupping his hand over his mouth and nose and looked to Jesse, who dropped the missing photo of Dave Karofsky in his own bowl. 

 

Blaine's eyes watered in agitation. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

 

“Pretty sure!”

 

A flash went up, lighting the room to the point it was almost blinding, before suddenly everything was back to normal, leaving behind a lingering smell of burnt herbs and rubber. 

 

There was a sudden sucking noise and a loud bang and Blaine whirled on his heel, brows raising at the sight of a slight, willow male dressed in well fitting, high end clothes. He was brushing himself off, frowning at the dust on his knees and fretted over his hair. 

 

“I hate forceful summons, you know,” the boy's voice, which was high, and surprisingly soothing, intoned. “It's very rude. I do have a cellphone. You can also just kill a virgin to get a hold of my voice mail.”

 

“I don't think they're looking for a deal,” a second voice sounded, off to Kurt's left.

 

“No?” Kurt looked over at Blaine and then at Jesse, and then around the living space he was in, his nose crinkled in distaste. “Is there a rule somewhere that says Hunters have to live like rats?”

 

Blaine stared blankly. The demons – specifically the one inside Kurt Hummel – knew it was in the presence of hunters, and yet it was _whining_?! 

 

“Well, you're probably just going to kill or exorcise me anyway, right?” Kurt asked, raising a shoulder in a shrug as he moved from his spot to wander around the room. “No point in fighting it.” 

 

“But I...” Blaine's hand tightened on the modified Glock equipped with rock salt ammunition and tracked Kurt with his eyes. “You aren't even going to try and escape.”

 

Kurt examined his nails before wandering over to the bookshelves in curiosity. “Why? The whole place is probably locked down in salt and iron and silver anyway. Besides, I performed a binding ritual to this body. I like it too much to let it go.” Kurt pulled a book off the shelf and smiled at it, thumbing through the pages. “Did you know you can learn a lot about a person by what books they read?” 

 

Blaine shifted his weight, not exactly certain on how to proceed. “I didn't.”

 

“That's because you're still young.” Kurt placed the book back on the shelf and turned, looking at Blaine and cocking his head to the side. “So, Blaine, right? It is Blaine? Can I call you Blaine?”

 

“Uh... Sure?”

 

“Great. So, Blaine, I think we're at a stalemate. So... you could break the seal on this house and let me and David go. Or I could break you into five pieces and take your playmate as my new toy.”

 

Blaine stiffened and he rose the Glock in a flash and fired, causing Kurt to stumble back, pressing a hand to his shoulder. 

 

“Ow! You ass! That really hurts.” Kurt pulled his hand away from the wound examining the blood before licking at his fingers in long strokes of his tongue. “My proposal was logical!”

 

“I like my idea better,” Blaine shot back, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Where I shove you back in the box you crawled out of.”

 

Kurt's mouth curled into an unattractive sneer, his eyes bleeding red as a inhuman snarl bubbled up from his throat. Blaine moved fast, grabbing the bag of road salt and flinging it in a long, high arch, sending a cascading line of salt to fall in a scattered, jagged line on the floor. Trapping Dave and Kurt behind an invisible wall. 

 

Blaine snatched up the rosary from the table and fingered the beads as he flipped through the pages of the book in front of him. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica...”

 

A shot rang out and Blaine stumbled, the book and rosary falling from his hands and bouncing on the floor. Blaine went down like a sack of flour, a loud, pained cry wringing from his throat. His hand pressed against his thigh and he rolled onto his back, looking over at Jesse, who smiled back serenely. 

 

“Sorry Blaine, they'll be no Deliverance today.”

 

“Jesse I don't--” Blaine's words were cut off as Jesse picked up a pair of handcuffs and locked Blaine's wrists together before stuffing a tie in his mouth.

 

“Shhh,” Jesse breathed, his thumb drawing over Blaine's cheek. “No more talking.”

 

“Christ, I was getting worried,” Dave muttered, examining Kurt's arm with concern. “The Latin is usually the last thing you hear before everything goes sideways.”

 

Jesse moved over to the line of salt and scattered it away with his foot, wrapping an arm around Kurt as he drew close. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah. When we get back to the hotel you can fuss over me. Right now I want to get out of here, the iron is making my head itch.”

 

Jesse nodded and his eyes drew down to Blaine on the floor. “He probably wants an explanation.”

 

Kurt snorted, sucking on David's bloodied fingers with a hum when they were presented to him. He drew back, licking at the tips of Dave's fingers. “Wanna give him one?”

 

Jesse tilted his head to the side ponderously, pursing his lips in thought. He picked up the Smith & Wesson he had placed down on his table so he could bind Blaine. He watched as Blaine watched them with defiant eyes and smiled. “No.”

 

Kurt took the Smith and Wesson and cocked it, smiling with joy as the bullet loaded into the barrel. 

 

Aimed.

 

Fired.

**Author's Note:**

> Amazing artwork done for this universe by my good buddy Rachel
> 
> [HERE](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/setos_puppy/media/FINISHED-3.png.html) and [HERE](http://s42.photobucket.com/user/setos_puppy/media/FINISHED-1.png.html)


End file.
